


A Case

by bencumberwub



Series: Sherlock Drabbles (Sherlock Holmes & John Watson) [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Domestic, Fluff, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bencumberwub/pseuds/bencumberwub





	1. Chapter 1

2:07am. The red of the clock hurt John’s eyes. He nudged Sherlock and got no response but the tightening of an arm around his waist. The pesky knocking started on their front door again. 

“Sherlock,” John turned over and placed a hand on Sherlock’s chest. “Sherlock, someone’s at the door. You go get it.” 

Sherlock opened his eyes and groaned. “John, you were already awake. You go get it.”

The knocking got louder and finally they heard a voice. “John, Sherlock! It’s Lestrade.”

John reached over the side of the bed and handed Sherlock his flimsy, blue housecoat and Sherlock wrapped it around himself. “Why was this on your side?”

John mumbled something but fell back asleep as Sherlock walked out of the bedroom. Sherlock walked through the living space of 221B and finally opened the front door.

“Christ, Sherlock. I’ve been out here for about five minutes. What were you doing? Catching up on your beauty sleep?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade. “What is it?”

“These files came in and I need you to check them out. A little girl was murdered last week, body just found. It was in the bottom of Thames.”

Sherlock made a face which showed that he believed this case was dull. “Lestrade, you know I don’t do cases involving children.”

Lestrade held up a baggy with a piece of paper in it. “Found in her mouth. A note from the killer.”

“A note?” Sherlock took the baggy.

“Yes, we usually don’t get notes Sherlock.” 

“Lestrade-“ Sherlock looked at Lestrade who was looking over his shoulder. Sherlock turned around to see John walking out of his bedroom.

“Sorry, to wake you and Sherlock, John.”

“S’fine. I’ll make some tea.” John walked into the kitchen and left Sherlock and Lestrade alone once again.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“Yes, my sleep. Along with John’s. Lestrade, I can’t take this case.”

“Sherlock, please. I know you don’t like cases involving children, but there was a note. A note. Sherlock we never get notes.”

“What did the note say?”

“The worst is death, and death will have his day.’”

“Shakespeare.” Sherlock sighed.

John brought tea into the living room as Sherlock flopped onto the couch. He handed Lestrade his cup and sat down next to Sherlock handing him his. 

“Start at the local theatre, Lestrade. They should be working on their summer play right now and perhaps they’re doing Shakespeare.” Sherlock replied as he took a drink of his tea and passed it back to John who took a sip.

"A case?"

“Yes, John. Do keep up. A little girl was found murdered with a note in her mouth. Not really a note, no. A quote. ‘The worst is death, and death will have his day.’ The killer, a bit unoriginal, dumped her in the bottom of Thames.” 

Lestrade drank his tea and watched this couple with fascination. Although Sherlock had told John to keep up, he had taken his time to talk over the case again. They continued to pass their tea back and forth as they discussed the case, Sherlock emphasizing that he didn’t want to take it since it involved a child. Lestrade had always thought they had something, not sure what, but something nonetheless. Lestrade then saw something that no one would ever believe if he told them.

“Go back to sleep, John. I want to talk to Lestrade a bit longer.” Sherlock handed him the tea cup and leaned over kissing him on the lips. “Goodnight. I’ll be in soon.”

“G’night.” John smiled and stood, offering to take Lestrade’s tea cup from him.

“Thanks.” Lestrade mumbled. He felt as if he’d just witnessed something very personal between the two.


	2. Enola

John had never seen Sherlock so distraught over a case before. It was as if Sherlock couldn’t think straight, which was quite odd considering it was Sherlock. 

“John- I can’t do this case.” Sherlock ran his hand over his face. “I can’t do it-“ Sherlock’s voice was cracking making John concerned. 

“Sherlock, it’s okay. You don’t have to do it.” 

“But I do.”

John frowned. “No, you don’t. Sherlock, I’ve never seen you like this with a case.”

“John,” Sherlock sighed and turned to face John who was in his chair. “This case, I have to do it. I cannot just quit on it. More lives are at stake here, specifically children.” 

“You hate cases with children. Why did you decide to take this one?” 

Sherlock stayed silent. “Because John,” Sherlock lowered his head like a child getting punished after getting into the cookie jar. “This case is a lot like my sister’s.”

John blinked. “What?”

“My sister, Enola. She is dead now. Has been since I was a child.”

John repeated himself. “What?”

Sherlock sighed. “Mycroft and I had a younger sister, John. She was murdered when she was seven. I was only fourteen and Mycroft was twenty-one.”

This time John remained silent taking in this new information. So, Sherlock was an older brother. To a sister. Who was dead.

“Why haven’t I heard of her before?” John asked.

“You never asked, it never seemed important.”

“Can I ask exactly how her death occurred?”

“Quite simple. A lot like this case. Kidnapped, bound and gagged, tortured, murdered, body dumped in Thames. Only difference is these victims were raped, Enola wasn’t.”

John got up from his chair and went to sit by Sherlock who immediately put his head in John’s lap. “I miss her every single day, John. We got along so well. Better than Mycroft and I do. She wasn’t so posh.” He smiled a genuine smile. “She wasn’t so fat either. I think you’d like her and I think she’d like you.” 

John smiled down at Sherlock who was looking up at him and brushed back one of his curls. “Sherlock, you don’t have to do this case if it hurts you too much.” 

“No, I have to do this case for Enola. I have to.” 

John nodded. He understood.


	3. Memories

A week and three days later the case was solved. John kicked off his shoes and ungracefully landed on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. Sherlock walked in after him and went straight to the kitchen after taking off his coat.

“Tea?”

“Please.” John felt like he should be the one giving Sherlock the tea. It had been an extra hard case for Sherlock. Much of the case reminded Sherlock of Enola and although he would never admit it, it was especially hard for Sherlock to not to get emotional.

Sherlock walked to the couch where John was lying down and handed him his tea. John sat up and scooted over so that Sherlock could sit down on the couch next to him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered shortly. He took a sip of his tea. “I’m quite alright.”

John smiled sadly at Sherlock and reached out for his hand, interlocking their fingers. Sherlock looked down at their hands and brought their locked hands up to his mouth, kissing the back of John’s hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Thank you for always being here with me. For always being by my side, even if it’s the most ridiculous time of day, you’re always there. You’re there for me even when I’m in the worst moods ever, and for that I thank you. I know I don’t say it as often as I should. But you know that I,” Sherlock paused and looked up at John. “I am not the best at expressing my feelings.”

John smiled and put his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Even when you don’t express your thanks out loud I know you’re thankful. But it is appreciated. And you’re very welcome.” John turned his head and kissed Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Sherlock thinks aloud. “Enola would have liked you very much so.”

“Do you have pictures of her?”

“Yes, I do. I don’t get them out often because they make me sad.”

John tilted his head and looked at Sherlock. This, what seemed to be, new Sherlock. This new Sherlock that had started to tell his feelings more often.

“Would you like to see them?” Sherlock asked quietly.

John took a sip of his tea. “Not if they make you sad.”

Sherlock stood and walked over to the bookcase, scanning the top shelf. He lifted his arm up and wrapped his hand around a particularly large album and pulled it down. He walked back over to John, stepping around the table in front of the couch. “Perhaps,” He began as he sat down. “It is time that I share some of my feelings, memories, and let go.”

“Sherlock,” John began. “You don’t need to let go of your feelings and memories.”

Sherlock looked at John, confused.

“Sometimes it’s okay to hold on to things. Especially something like this, these memories you have of Enola, you need to remember them and these feelings you need to keep them and feel them genuinely. Just share the memories with me, don’t let go of them.”

So Sherlock opened up the album and began to tell stories to John, not letting go of the memories, but reminiscing.

Sherlock decided that he would definitely hold on to this memory of John on his shoulder, smiling and laughing at stories that Sherlock shared.

_Yes,_ he thought.  _Yes, I will hold on to this memory of you, John._


End file.
